My Life, Part III: My Siblings

Growing up, I found myself constantly in competition with my sisters. They got into every major university -- but they were told by my father that they could only go to college in Brooklyn. If that is not earth shattering to a young kid who aspires the world.

Can you imagine that? You come from a family where college was never an option because of the war, your kids all grow up, they are wanted by every major school, and you say…no. It wasn’t even a money issue. By the time I was ready for college, my dad had already owned and sold the Surf Side Projects in Coney Island and owned a nice piece of Kings Highway. He just wanted to show that he was the boss and it was his rules. I guess governing the family with an Iron fist was also his way of protecting us.

That is the reason I think that I did some of the things that I did while I was growing up…I knew he was the boss, but I was going to "show him." Classic “Rebel Without a Cause” syndrome. Don't get me wrong, he is the best dad and always was, but when it came to me and my sisters…well, let’s just say we didn’t always see eye-to-eye.

My sisters were my entire world for a period of time and once I saw the world from many eyes, had my own children, I realized, I could never live without them; but we are no where near having kids yet in the story. My sisters were older than me. Susanne was my senior by nine years, while my sister Corinne is thirteen years older. If my parents were in their twenties when they had us, consecutively, it would have been easier, but I was the one conceived during their midlife crisis. As my father always said, "I should have gone to the movies that night."

My parents are not youngsters, so dealing with the three of us was a handful. I have to admit that they did a fairly decent job with my sisters. Even though the rules were strict, my siblings happened to actually figure out a way to always appease my parents. I…saw things differently. I would never understand how my sisters would be able to have my parents eating out of the palm of their hands. It took me a fight, yelling, a scream, a cry, and a pout to get the hand to open.

My siblings, as I said, were my best friends until high school. I’m sad to say that we only recently became close again. Who’s to blame? It is partly all of our faults, I take full responsibility. Hey who wanted to get yelled at by your sisters when your trying to be a "don juan."

I developed a persona as an all-star jock and ladies’ man that drove a real wedge between us. How can you date a different girl four times a week, be in love twice a month, and wake up wearing some cheerleader’s underwear on your head and look your two sisters in the eye, without frowning? It's impossible.

The problem was, my sisters were my heroes. It’s weird. Kids generally say that their dad is their hero, but I was scared shitless of my dad. Looking at it now, I wish I could be half the father he ever was. The hours he spent to give me whatever my heart desired. The broken bones just to make sure my children and their children would have something in an emergency. But my sisters were the ones that I looked up to. And it’s their success, even today, that makes me strive to be great. I have always been on a mission to "show them." And I've been a mile ahead of the race a few times around the track, but it’s the distance that I could never keep up with. Why? maybe its an ego, or maybe its the hurdles that I did not jump rather try to run right through them only to crash on the floor.

Don't get me wrong, I'm still trying. But my sisters, as unbelievable as they may be, are the ones who helped shape me in to the man I am today. I'm not sure they’d take that as a compliment, since there were some major stumbling blocks that I hit, but nonetheless, I owe a lot of the success I’ve had to their example.